War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [219]
“What on earth is this?” she said.
Even though Iogel did not acknowledge this mazurka as authentic, everyone admired Denisov’s skill, began choosing him constantly, and the old men, smiling, began to talk about Poland and the good old days. Denisov, flushed from the mazurka and wiping himself with a handkerchief, sat down by Natasha and did not leave her for the whole ball.
XIII
For two days after that, Rostov did not see Dolokhov at his house and could not find him at home; on the third day, he received a note from him.
“Since I do not intend to frequent your house anymore, for reasons known to you, and am leaving for the army, tonight I am giving a farewell party for my friends—come to the English Hotel.” That evening, after nine o’clock, Rostov went to the English Hotel from the theater, where he had been with his family and Denisov. He was brought at once to the best rooms of the hotel, taken for the night by Dolokhov.
Some twenty men crowded around the table at which Dolokhov sat between two candles. On the table lay gold and banknotes, and Dolokhov kept the bank. Nikolai had not seen Dolokhov since his proposal and Sonya’s refusal, and he felt embarrassed at the thought of how they would meet.
Dolokhov’s light, cold gaze met Rostov at the door, as if he had long been waiting for him.
“We haven’t seen each other for long time,” he said. “Thank you for coming. Let me just finish the game, and Ilyushka will come with the chorus.”
“I called at your place,” Rostov said, blushing.
Dolokhov did not reply.
“You can stake,” he said.
Rostov remembered at that moment a strange conversation he had once had with Dolokhov. “Only fools can gamble on luck,” Dolokhov had said then.
“Or are you afraid to play with me?” Dolokhov said now, as if guessing Rostov’s thought, and he smiled. Behind his smile, Rostov saw in him that mood he had been in during the dinner at the club and generally at those times when, bored with everyday life, Dolokhov felt the necessity of getting out of it by some strange, most often cruel, act.
Rostov felt awkward; he sought and could not find in his mind a joke which would reply to Dolokhov’s words. But, before he managed to do it, Dolokhov, looking straight in Rostov’s face, said to him, slowly and measuredly, so that everyone could hear:
“Remember, we talked once about gambling…he’s a fool who wants to gamble on luck; gambling needs certainty, but I want to try it.”
“Try gambling on luck or on certainty?” Rostov wondered.
“But you’d better not gamble,” Dolokhov added, and, flexing a newly opened deck, he said: “Bank, gentlemen!”
Moving money forward, Dolokhov prepared to keep the bank. Rostov sat beside him and at first did not play. Dolokhov kept glancing at him.
“Why aren’t you playing?” said Dolokhov. And, strangely, Nikolai felt the need to take a card, stake an insignificant sum on it, and begin to play.
“I have no money with me,” said Rostov.
“I’ll trust you!”
Rostov staked five roubles and lost, staked once more and lost again. Dolokhov “killed”—that is, won—ten cards in a row from Rostov.
“Gentlemen,” he said, after keeping the bank for a while, “I ask you to put your money on your cards, otherwise I may get confused in the accounting.”
One of the players said he had hoped he could be trusted.
“That I can do, but I’m afraid to get confused; I ask you to put money on the cards,” replied Dolokhov. “And don’t you be shy, we’ll settle our accounts,” he added, turning to Rostov.
The game went on; a servant constantly went around with champagne.
All of Rostov’s cards were beaten, and eight hundred roubles were already scored against him. He wrote eight hundred rubles on a card, but, while champagne was served to him, he changed his mind and again wrote an ordinary stake, twenty rubles.
“Leave it,” said Dolokhov, though it seemed he was not even looking at Rostov, “you’ll win it back the sooner. I